The same other side
There is a peculiar pressure
in this weary world
to go out and up,
out to conquer and solve,
up to succeed and better–
a peculiar pressure to out and up.
Why, then, does my heart,
the still center of my soul,
feel pulled in and down?
Deeper into what makes me tick–and you–
that part of me that think it’s me
and that part of me that un-knows better.
Deeper into the soil to re-learn
what I would prefer to forget,
what I wish weren’t true.
Deeper into darkened rooms
with only a candle in hand
celebrating the subtle and silken shadows.
A whisper tells me that by going in and down
I will go through–be brought through–
and thus will kneel on the other side
having gone through myself and
teased out the knots, untied them,
the slack in the line giving room
for my face to lift enough and stretch
that my eyes can rest beyond me
and I can breathe deeply and rest.
The weight I felt burns away
like a fine fog in the ray of sunlight
that greets me each day and wakes my soul.
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